During the first hour I felt pain, but during the rest of the evening pride kindly came to my assistance and from that moment instead of feeling myself little, I grew to a most noble and patagonian [3] nature, from which I could scarcely reduce myself for many days after; and which enabled me at the moment to turn a deaf ear to the contended merits of Demosthenes and Cicero, the Borhavians in medicine, and the &c &c &c &c — and to set and compose verses 'to my Old Oak table', which by the bye is a far better companion to me, as I will make appear, than Dr. A and his son put together.

my personal favourites include a gorgeous, moving 'still life' of a vase of flowers which slowly explodes leaving shards of glass, petals and pollen cascading to the floor in an endless moment of stillness, a patagonian journey viewed through the tiny porthole of a little boat, and the painting and repainting of the side of a battered block of flats by an optimist with a long handled paint brush...